


Bean Waiting for You

by orderlychaos



Series: The Adventures of Wizard!Clint [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Non-SHIELD AU, Teasing, background Skye/Darcy, human!Phil, magical au, not quite a Harry Dresden AU, wizard!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:24:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2489303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Soooo…”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>Phil didn’t glance up at Skye’s attempt at wheedling, because he’d become all too used to it over the past three days.  Instead, he calmly continued to add his latest bunch of muffins to the display case.  The tail end of the morning rush had finally ebbed, leaving Bean There, Done That startlingly quiet.  Naturally, Skye was taking the opportunity to quiz Phil about his date with Clint, and Phil’s continued silence hadn’t done much to curb Skye’s curiosity.  Mostly, Phil was just trying to be a gentleman, but he had to admit that Skye’s increasingly annoyed huffs were very amusing.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil Coulson doesn't consider himself particularly special.  He's just your average kind of guy.  Only his life doesn't quite seem to work that way.  If his meddling staff, and his teasing friends weren't enough, his morning run is interrupted by, well...pixies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bean Waiting for You

**Author's Note:**

> A large thank you to Fiend, who read this over for me, and is generally wonderful :)
> 
> (Any remaining mistakes are mine.)
> 
> Also, Jules, there is a moment in here for you. You'll know what it is <3

 

_Phil’s Rules of Life #5:  The things that are worth doing are rarely easy._

Yawning, Phil Coulson dug his keys out from the front pocket of his hoodie.  It was still early, the sun barely peeking above the horizon, but Phil had found sleep eluding him again.  He’d actually slept most of the night this time, so Phil had simply thrown on a hoodie and started his morning run a little early.  He was about a block away from _Bean There, Done That_ when the hairs of the back of his neck prickled.  The sensation of someone watching him was like a laser drilling between his shoulder blades.  Phil’s hand twitched towards a gun he no longer carried, and he had to fight to keep his body relaxed and his movements casual.  The reaction was instinctive and immediate, never mind that it had been years since he’d last worn fatigues.  His instincts were still there, honed and ready, and Phil doubted he’d ever lose them, not completely.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a shadowed, hooded figure, and blinked.  For a second, the figure looked like someone dressed up as a Ringwraith.  But by the time Phil turned his head for a better look, whoever it was had disappeared.  Phil frowned.  The figure had been standing near the mouth of an alley, and Phil was immediately curious.  Even though his common sense was telling him this was a _bad idea_.  When Phil peered through the growing light of dawn, he thought he heard a faint whimper, and that sealed it.

Carefully, Phil scanned the twilight for any sign of the hooded figure, but the itch between his shoulders was gone.  He was alone again.  Ducking into the alley, Phil expected to find a small kitten, or maybe a puppy, that some careless owner didn’t want anymore.  People could be assholes like that, and a small kernel of anger flared into life in his stomach.

Of course, that _wasn’t_ what he found.

For a second, an icy wave of shock rushed through him, before the anger flared back to life.  Huddled together in the shadows of a dumpster were two small creatures that definitely weren’t kittens.  Both creatures would probably fit in the palm of his hand, and aside from the wings, they resembled tiny, dainty humans.  Phil wasn’t sure exactly what they were, but terror was etched on their faces, and when they saw Phil, both pairs of little eyes went wide.  The blue-grey coloured one on the left whimpered again, and pressed closer to his blue-green coloured friend.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Phil said softly, dropping into a crouch.

He was careful to stay far enough away from the creatures to make sure they didn’t feel trapped, and took a deep breath.  Okay.  He wasn’t sure what this was, but he could deal with it.  Probably.

The little creatures both wore what looked like pants and a tunic, with a belt around the middle.  Their wings were trembling, the fluttering causing the patterns to slide in and out of focus.  Even so, they somehow reminded Phil of circuits and the few parts of molecules he could remember from high school science class.  Not really wanting to admit it, the stories Phil’s mother used to read him as a boy sprang to mind, of faeries and magic.  “My name’s Phil,” he said, putting a hand on his chest, when the two creatures just continued to stare at him with wide, dark eyes.  Hopefully, they could understand English, or Phil was in trouble.

The blue-green one blinked curiously at him.  Phil hoped he learned their names soon, because it felt rude to keep referring to them by colour, even if it was in his own head.  “You know, you’re taking this very well,” it - she? - said in a startlingly crisp English accent.  The kind Phil was used to associating with TV butlers, for some reason.  Her voice was musical, but there was an undercurrent of pure steel that Phil’s instincts warned him not to mess with.

“Um, well,” Phil said, a bit lost for words.  “I’m not really sure I am?”  He shrugged apologetically.  “You just look like you need a little help.”

The blue-green faerie-thing blinked again.  “But you’ve come across our kind before,” she pressed.

“Your kind specifically, no,” Phil replied.  “I’m sorry, but I don’t actually know what you are.”  He paused, watching the two creatures carefully - although who Phil thought they were going to tell, he had no idea.  He’d made a promise, though.  “As for magic… I know it exists,” he finally admitted.

“Oh, well, that makes sense then,” the blue green one said brightly.  “And we’re pixies.  Well, technically we’re Fae, but…”

“Jemma!” her friend hissed, cutting her off.  His voice deeper, and came with a surprisingly thick Scottish accent.  “You’re not supposed to say that!  He’ll find us again!”

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma the pixie - and wasn’t that going to take a bit to get used to? - replied, her tone fond exasperation, like they’d had some variation of this argument many times in the past.  “It’s quite safe.  Phil’s nice.  He’s not going to tell anyone who we are.”  She turned those large dark eyes on Phil again.  “Are you?”

“No, I won’t tell anyone about you,” Phil promised.  He wasn’t sure why he was so quick to agree. His knowledge of magic was hardly extensive, and he hadn’t actually seen anything magical in years, but there was no denying that Jemma and Fitz needed help.  “Who is ‘he’ and why do you need to hide from him?”

Fitz and Jemma shrank back, their wings shaking again.  “I don’t know his name,” Jemma said sadly, “but he’s a horrible, dark wizard.  He captured us and brought us here, wherever here is.”  She bit her lip and Fitz huddled closer to her, hugging her tight.  “Pixies don’t have a lot of magic, you see.  Mostly, we just bring people luck and help out with household chores.  But… well, in dark magic…”  She trailed off.

“In dark magic, you can use the blood of an innocent thing like a pixie for horrible, awful spells,” Fitz finished in a small voice.

The anger that had been simmering in Phil’s stomach suddenly raced through him like an electrical current at the implication behind Fitz’s words.  Letting out a slow breath, Phil ruthlessly reigned in his fury.  Whoever this ‘he’ was, Phil could find him later.  Right now, he needed to get Fitz and Jemma somewhere safe and warm, and figure out what pixies ate.  “Right,” he said.  “I live just down the street from here.  It’s not very far.  If I promise I will not harm you, will you come home with me?”

Jemma peered carefully at him.  “Do you promise on the blood of your family that you will not cause harm to us, either directly or indirectly, if we accept your hospitality?” she asked, her words strangely formal sounding.

Phil frowned.  For a second, the air around him almost hummed with energy.  “I swear on the blood of my family, that I will cause you no harm, directly or indirectly, if you accept my hospitality,” he repeated back, hoping that would be enough.

“Okay,” Jemma said, shivering.  “Then it would be very nice if we could.”

~*~

It didn’t take long to gather up Fitz and Jemma, and bring them back to his apartment.  When he’d picked them up, the shivering cold wracking the two pixies had surprised Phil.  They’d both muffled groans and immediately wrapped themselves around his fingers at his touch.  Worry had clenched at Phil’s stomach, his protective instincts hammering at him.  Phil had jogged the rest of the way home, before finding as many handkerchiefs and small towels to wrap Jemma and Fitz up in like blankets.  Then he’d run some warm water into the kitchen sink, and offered them a bath.

Apparently, that had been the right thing to do, because both Fitz and Jemma had suddenly grinned and started yelling thank yous.

That had been about half an hour ago, and the two pixies were still splashing around happily among the bubbles Phil had poured in.  Phil smiled as he came out of the bathroom, warm from his own shower, careful to clear his throat so they knew he was there.  Fitz and Jemma immediately squeaked and ducked underneath the bubbles.  “Sorry,” Phil told them softly.  “I just wanted to ask you if you wanted anything to eat?  I have to go downstairs to open the shop in a minute.”

“Oh.”  What Phil could see of Jemma’s face looked sad.  “We’ll be fine.  If you just give us a moment to get dressed…”

Phil blinked.  “No, please.  You can stay.  For as long as you like.  I just need to go downstairs for a little while, and I didn’t want to leave you completely on your own without any food.”

“Food?” Fitz said, popping his head out of the bubbles.

Smiling, Phil suddenly had a image in his head of how Clint’s eyes lit up whenever Phil gave him a muffin warm from the oven.  “You know what?  I have to do some baking for the morning rush.  How about I bring you back a muffin warm from the oven?  Do you like chocolate?”

“ _Chocolate_?” Fitz whispered reverently.  “I like you.  Can we stay forever?”

Phil chuckled.  “Chocolate muffins it is.”

~*~

“Soooo…”

Phil didn’t glance up at Skye’s attempt at wheedling, because he’d become all too used to it over the past three days.  Instead, he calmly continued to add his latest bunch of muffins to the display case.  He’d already run two of his first batch upstairs to Jemma and Fitz.  At the sight, the pixies’ dark eyes had gone so wide Phil was almost sure it had to hurt.  Then they’d fallen on the muffins like the starving pair they were, and Phil had left them cuddled together in chocolate comas when he’d come back downstairs again.

The tail end of the morning rush had finally ebbed, leaving _Bean There, Done That_ startlingly quiet.  Naturally, Skye was taking the opportunity to quiz Phil about his date with Clint, and Phil’s continued silence hadn’t done much to curb Skye’s curiosity.  Mostly, Phil was just trying to be a gentleman, but he had to admit that Skye’s increasingly annoyed huffs were very amusing.

Biting back a smile as he felt Skye’s eyes glowering into the side of his head, Phil turned to her and arched an eyebrow.  “So?” he replied.

“So, are you ever going to tell me _anything_ about your date, PC?” Skye grumbled.

“Nope,” Phil told her, smiling when Skye continued to glare at him.

“Come on!” she complained, her task of wiping down the front counter seemingly forgotten.  “You go out to dinner with a dreamy guy you’ve been _pining_ over for months, and you don’t say a word!  No gushing, no complaining.  Nothing!  It’s not normal.”

Phil rolled his eyes.  “I’m so glad I have you around to tell me what constitutes as normal,” he shot back dryly.

Skye huffed.  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she said, pointing a finger at him.

Thankfully, the sound of the shop door opening saved Phil from further interrogation.  Except, as soon as he saw who it was, Phil’s hope of a momentary respite from the questions disappeared.  Detective Maria Hill smirked at him as he walked up to the counter, and Phil sighed.  Maria’s blue eyes were sharp as they glanced between him and Skye.  As always, Maria wore jeans and her favourite jacket with the eagle patch on the shoulder.  Her badge gleamed on her belt, and her dark hair was pulled back from her face into a bun.  Sam Wilson was just behind her, watching curiously, and clearly aware he’d stumbled into an ongoing conversation.  One his partner was in on, too.

In different circumstances, Phil probably would have tried asking Sam out.  Sam was funny, kind and always tried to help people that needed it.  He was also gorgeous.  Today, Sam’s henley was an olive green colour that complimented his dark skin, and as usual, his badge hung on a chain around his neck.  His leather jacket accentuated his shoulders, and Phil found himself staring for a bit longer than was polite.

“Hey, Romeo,” Maria said, leaning against the counter.  “Quit ogling my partner.  Didn’t you just go on a date with the man of your dreams?”

Phil flushed slightly as Skye giggled beside him.  “Can I get you your usual, Detective?” he asked in the mildest tone he could manage.  Then he turned to Skye.  “And don’t you have tables to be clearing?”

“You just don’t want to answer my questions,” Skye shot back, but headed off to do as she was asked anyway.

Maria rolled her eyes, but let a smiling Sam nudge her out the way.  “Hey, Phil,” Sam greeted.  “I don’t suppose you could make the coffee extra strong today?”

“Sure,” Phil replied, starting the familiar process making the coffee.  He didn’t ask, but Phil did catch the subtle tension running through both Sam and Maria, and the way their smiles were a shade too forced.  There were enough nightmarish scenes in Phil’s past for him to recognize the signs of a bad case.  “On the house,” he told Sam when he put the large take out cups on the counter, waving off the money Sam tried to offer him.

“Thanks, man,” Sam said quietly.

Maria inhaled a mouthful of coffee, humming softly as her eyes drifted shut in happiness.  Then she snapped them open again, and fixed Phil with a pointed look.  “Don’t think this blatant bribery is going to stop me from questioning you about your date,” she said.  “He did finally ask you, right?”

Skye walked up with a load of dirty cups before Phil could answer. “If you’re pressing for details, don’t bother,” she grumbled.  “He refuses to say anything.”

Maria scowled.  “I don’t want details.  I just want to know if the idiot finally asked you out so we can stop with all this ridiculous pining.”

Phil blinked.  “I wasn’t pining!”

“Yeah, Boss, you kind of were,” Skye replied.

Phil narrowed his eyes at Skye.  He wouldn’t admit to anything, but if he had been pining, then it wasn’t anymore than Skye herself.  Skye hadn’t just latched onto him as a father figure, but had apparently joined Phil by getting a crush on one of the customers too.  Thankfully, not on Clint.

“So?” Maria demanded impatiently.

“They went out last Friday,” Skye told her helpfully.

Maria blatantly looked Phil over.  “You don’t look like you recently got laid,” she said.

Sam rolled his eyes.  “Not everyone dates like you, Maria,” he teased.  “Some of us prefer to get to know each other before we get naked.”

After rolling her eyes at her partner, Maria turned back to Phil and arched an eyebrow.  Phil stared back.  “Come on, Maria,” he said.  “How long have you known me?”

Snorting, Maria narrowed her eyes and gestured at him with her coffee cup.  “You weren’t always such a gentleman,” she replied.  “I remember the rumours from your Army days.”

“Rumours?” Skye said, her eyes bright with curiosity.  “What rumours?”

“The rumours that Coulson slept with everything that moved whenever he got leave from his unit,” Maria told her with a knowing smirk.

Skye grinned, and held up her hand for a fistbump.  “Hey, go PC!”

Phil sighed.  “That was a long time ago,” he said, before giving in and bumping his fist to Skye’s, much to her delight.

“I know,” Maria complained.  “These days you _pine_.”

“Don’t you have things that need doing, Detective?” Phil asked pointedly.

Maria huffed.  “Fine, be like that,” she said.  “Just don’t you dare come complaining to me when you want advice.”

Phil arched his own eyebrow.  “The only advice you give out is about the best choice of weapon to blow something up,” he replied.

“Ha ha,” Maria snarked.  “Wilson, I’ll be outside when you’re done.  There’s no talking to this asshole when he’s like this.”

Sam chuckled and shook his head.  “I’d better go too,” he said, nodding his head towards Maria’s departing figure.  “But if you ever need to talk, Phil, I’m happy to listen.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Phil said.

“Happy to help,” Sam said with a smile.  “Catch you later.”

~*~

About twenty minutes later, the lunch crowd was just beginning to trickle through the door, when the whirlwind that was Darcy Lewis burst in.  Today, she was clad in a very tight black dress underneath her jacket, and was showing an impressive amount of cleavage.  Her chunky black boots were slightly incongruous with the dress, but pure Darcy, and a blue knit hat sat on her head at a jaunty angle.  Phil carefully hid his smile as Skye almost tripped over a chair and then blushed bright red.

Sauntering up to the counter, Darcy smirked at Phil.  “Hey, C-man,” she greeted.  “How’s it hanging?”

Shaking his head slightly, Phil smiled.  “And what can I get for you this morning, Darcy?” he asked.

“The biggest, blackest coffee you have, and my iPod,” Darcy replied.  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten you stole it the last time I was in here.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Phil started on Darcy’s coffee.  “I didn’t steal anything,” he said mildly.  “You left it on a table by the window.”

Darcy snorted.  “Don’t distract me with irrelevant details,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.

This time Phil _did_ roll his eyes, and Darcy grinned.  With a final flourish, Phil slapped a lid on Darcy's coffee, and set it on the counter in front of her.  “One extra large, I-Haven’t-Been-Home-Yet-Today ready for consumption,” he teased.  He had a soft spot for Darcy.  They’d met when Darcy had dragged her roommate slash boss into his shop and asked Phil for enough food to stop “the big brain from passing out due to too much science”.  

“Do I need to make anything for Jane?” Phil added as Darcy delightedly sucked down half her coffee.

“No idea,” Darcy replied, before winking.  “Her boy toy was over last night.  Why do you think I had to make myself scarce?”

As a rule, Phil liked to know _absolutely nothing_ about his customers’ sex lives.  Thankfully, Darcy was interrupted by the door opening, and Phil could continue living in ignorance.

Phil couldn’t stop the smile stretching across his face when he caught sight of Clint, Natasha just behind him.  Clint’s grey henley clung to his muscled chest underneath his black coat.  Phil suspected Natasha’s that was doing, because the coat was sleek and more importantly, lacked holes.  His jeans were typically Clint though, worn, torn at the hem, and faded around the pockets.  Clint’s dark blond hair was scruffy, as if he’d just woken up, and his face still held fading bruises on his jaw and cheek.  Phil couldn’t help the way his stomach clenched in worry, because it always did when Clint showed up hurt.

“Hi, Phil,” Clint greeted, coming up to lean against the counter, and ducking his head adorably.  Adorable shouldn’t be a word Phil used on a seasoned investigator like Clint, but he couldn’t help that either.  “Sorry I wasn’t in earlier.  I was busy.”

Natasha snorted, and rolled her eyes when Phil glanced at her.  “He slept in,” she corrected, ignoring Clint’s dark glare in reply.

Phil’s smile broadened.  “It’s okay.  You’re here now,” he replied.

Clint’s cheeks went faintly pink.  “Well, where else was I going to go for one of those really awesome muffins?”

Phil had to ruthlessly squash down his own blush at Clint’s words.  Clint’s appreciation for his baking never failed to warm something deep in Phil’s chest.  He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Clint that it woke up all of his instincts to protect and care for Clint.  It just wasn’t Phil’s first impulse.  Usually, that was reserved for wanting to kiss Clint stupid.  And now that Phil had actually kissed Clint, the urge was so much stronger.  Natasha smirked at him, and Phil rolled his eyes in reply.  Then he thought, _fuck it_.  If he wanted to kiss his boyfriend in his own damn shop, he was going to.

Leaning over the counter, Phil snagged Clint by the edge of his coat, and pulled him forward.  “Hi,” he said softly, before closing the rest of the distance and pressing his lips to Clint’s.

The kiss was soft and mostly chaste, with both of them conscious of their audience.  Even so, Phil couldn’t help but linger, particularly when Clint wound his hand around the back of Phil’s neck.  “Hi,” Clint whispered, when he finally allowed Phil to pull back.

“Awww, that’s adorable,” Darcy drawled, interrupting the moment.

“I know, right?” Skye agreed, grinning madly.

Frowning, Phil turned to Skye, because at least he could do something about her commentary.  With Darcy, he’d just have to wait until she got bored.  “Don’t you have something else you need to be doing?” he asked Skye pointedly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Skye grumbled, but nevertheless, headed out from behind the counter again.

“Relax, C-man,” Darcy chimed in.  “We were just complimenting you and your hot new boyfriend.”

Phil arched an eyebrow.

“What?” Darcy protested with a shrug.  “I may be a kickass lesbian, but I can still appreciate the aesthetics of a fine-looking dude.”

“Great, thanks,” Clint said sarcastically.  His cheeks were pink and his shoulders hunched.  “Can I get a coffee now?”

Rolling her eyes, Darcy moved off to her favourite table by the window.  Skye, who was wiping things down nearby, suddenly drifted closer, and Phil bit back another smile.  Starting the familiar process of making Clint’s usual drink, Phil turned his attention back to Clint.  “She’s not wrong, you know,” he said quietly.  “You are a fine-looking dude.”

The words had their intended effect - Clint rolled his eyes, and flashed Phil a reluctant smile.

“Even if you do dress atrociously on occasion,” Natasha added, bumping her shoulder against Clint’s.

Clint snorted, but the tension in his shoulders relaxed.  “You just don’t appreciate my signature style,” he replied.

Natasha sent him a pointed look, before deliberately turning to Phil.  “I’d love a tea, please, when you have a moment,” she said.  “Feel free to make Clint carry it over when it’s done.”  Then she sauntered off to curl up in one of the armchairs in the corner.

Shaking his head, Phil watched her go before glancing back to Clint.  “Is that just because of your comment, or did you do something particular to annoy Natasha today?” he asked mildly, putting Clint’s large take out cup in front of him.

Clint ducked his head, and fingered the label on the side of the coffee.  Then he let out a loud sigh.  “She has a problem with one of the current… cases I’m working on,” he said.

“Ah,” Phil replied.  “Anything you want to talk about?”

“Not really,” Clint said, before glancing up.  “I’d rather talk about our next date instead.”

“Oh, yeah?” Phil said, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned his hip against the counter.

“Yeah,” Clint said, sounding firmer.  A glint of amusement lit his amazing eyes.  “How do you feel about movies?”

Phil raised his eyebrows questioningly, but he couldn’t stop the smile that curved his lips.  “Generally favourable,” he said.  “Although, I should confess a particular fondness for the original Star Wars films.”

Clint grinned, his eyes dancing.  “Who doesn’t love the original Star Wars?” he said.  “Han Solo was my hero.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Phil teased.

Clint huffed out a laugh.  “Shut up,” he muttered.  Then he let out a breath, his humour fading.  “How about black and white films involving men dressed as women?  There’s this old theater I know about, and it’s showing Some Like it Hot on Friday night.  Want to go?”

Two hours alone with Clint in a dim theater sounded like heaven to Phil.  “I’d love to,” he replied.

“Awesome,” Clint said with a grin.

Phil ducked his head to avoid being caught mooning at Clint, and was just starting Natasha’s tea when Skye walked over with a grimace on her face.  “Ugh.  I’ve said it before, PC, but it needs repeating.  Garrett is _creepy_.”

“Garrett?” Clint asked, all humour suddenly disappearing from his expression.

Phil nodded towards the corner of the cafe, where a rough-looking man was just packing up a laptop.  John Garrett had drifted in and out of the fringes of Phil’s life for years.  Before his death, Phil’s grandfather had spent lots of time making mysterious deals with Garrett.  When Phil had been young and stupid, he’d thought the secrecy surrounding Garrett was thrilling.  Phil was older now - and hopefully wiser.  “So what did he do this time?” he asked Skye.

Skye made another face.  “He drew a happy _poop_ on his receipt and gave it to me,” she muttered.  “Who does that?”

“A happy poop?” Phil echoed, his brain shuddering a little.

“See?” Skye said, holding up a bit of crumpled paper.  “Seriously, I don’t know why Ward likes hanging out with him so much.”

“I think that’s just supposed to be a smiley face,” Phil told her with a shrug, but his words had no effect on Skye’s muttered ranting.  He glanced up to share his amusement with Clint, only Clint was staring at Garrett with a pensive frown on his face.  “Hey,” Phil said softly.  “Is everything okay?”

Clint hummed absently.  Then he blinked, and turned to flash Phil a smile that was only a little forced.  “Sorry,” he said, ducking his head.  “I just had a thought about a case.”  He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards where Natasha was sitting, as Phil set Natasha’s tea on the counter.  “Do you mind if I…?”

“Go ahead,” Phil told him, reaching out to gently snag Clint’s arm before he could rush away.  “Be careful, okay?” he added softly, his eyes flicking up to the fading bruises again.

Clint smiled at the counter, suddenly bashful.  “Yeah,” he replied.  “I promise.”  Then he darted forward to press a kiss to Phil’s lips, like if he hesitated too long, he’d lose his nerve.

“Soooo adorable,” Skye teased as Clint disappeared with Natasha’s tea.

“Quiet, you,” Phil muttered back.

“I can’t help it if…” Skye began, before her gaze caught on something in her hand, and her eyes went wide.  “ _Oh my God_ ,” she hissed.

Phil blinked, tensing slightly.  “What is it?”

Wordlessly, Skye held up a napkin.  A large red lipstick kiss decorated the corner, along with a scrawled phone number, and the words “Call me” with Darcy’s name underneath.  Phil grinned as Skye opened and shut her mouth a few times, before her eyes drifted over to where Darcy was watching them from her table by the window.  When Darcy blew Skye a kiss and winked, Phil snickered.  Skye went red.  “Adorable,” he muttered.

“Shut up,” Skye whispered furiously.  “You’ve been on like _one_ date with your guy.  You don’t get to take the high road on this.”

Phil prodded her between the shoulders, forcing Skye to take a step towards Darcy.  “Go ask her out then,” he said.  “I can spare you for fifteen minutes.”

“I… what… _Phil_ ,” she snapped when Phil gave her another poke.  “Fine!”

Another group of customers walked in a moment later, but Phil managed to keep enough of an eye on Skye and Darcy to catch Skye’s awkward attempts at flirting.  She and Phil were so very alike, sometimes.  Shaking his head, Phil silently wished her luck, and got back to work.

~*~

“So, what’d I miss?” Melinda May asked, coming to stand beside Phil at the counter.

Phil yawned, grateful to be handing over the shop to his assistant manager.  Melinda stared back at him, her dark eyes serious, before a small smile teased at the corner of her mouth.  As usual, her clothes were the same shade of black as her hair, and her face was unyielding as steel.  “Not much,” Phil told her.  “According to Skye, Garrett’s being creepy again, and Darcy finally made a move.  She and Skye are going out on Saturday.”

Melinda’s smirk grew.  “Told you,” she said.

Phil rolled his eyes, but his heart wasn’t in it.  “You did,” he agreed.

Melinda glanced him over with a critical eye.  “You look exhausted,” she said.

“I feel it,” Phil replied, running a hand over his face.

“Not sleeping?” Melinda asked.

When Phil opened his mouth the deny it, Melinda arched an eyebrow.  “Not well,” he conceded.  “But I’ll be fine.”

“You’d be more fine if you actually went upstairs to sleep,” Melinda said.  “Instead of living off coffee.”

Giving in, Phil sighed.  Melinda was an old friend, and Phil trusted her.  Plus, Melinda generally just kept prodding until Phil did what she wanted anyway.  “I’m going now,” he muttered.

“Good,” Melinda replied, and then watched him until he went upstairs to his apartment above the coffee shop.

Letting himself in the door, Phil peered cautiously around for the pixies.  Phil didn’t catch any fluttering wings, or flashes of blue, but his apartment did look a _lot_ cleaner than it had when he’d left.  It practically shined.  “Hello?” Phil called out.

Following the faint whispers to the kitchen, Phil walked in just as Jemma elbowed Fitz, who appeared to have been napping on Phil’s sponge.  “Sir!” she greeted brightly.  “Welcome home.”

“Uh…” Phil said.  His kitchen was _spotless_.  “You don’t need to call me ‘sir’.  Phil is fine.”

Jemma nodded.  “May we introduce ourselves?” she asked.

Phil blinked.  He had no idea what was going on yet, but Jemma seemed strangely hesitant, so Phil nodded back.  “Of course,” he said.

Straightening her shoulders, Jemma leaned forward into an elaborately formal bow.  “My name is Jemma Simmons, of the Great Southern Pixie Clan,” she said.

Beside her, Fitz swept into a similar bow.  “And I am Leopold Fitz, of the Great Northern Pixie Clan,” he introduced.

When both pixies blinked expectantly at him, Phil shook himself out of his daze, and bowed somewhat awkwardly back.  “I’m Phillip Coulson,” he said.   “Human, living in New York City.”

“Phillip Coulson, may we ask for refuge to stay in your home, in exchange for any cleaning and help with the household chores that we can provide?” Jemma asked, her cheeks darkening to a deeper blue.

Phil was too tired to be dealing with this.  Of course, he also didn’t want to be entering into any binding agreements with magical creatures without understanding the implications.  “Um…” he said.  “Can I think about it?”

Immediately, Jemma and Fitz wilted like puppets whose strings had been cut.  Thankfully, Phil was distracted a second later by the sound of his phone getting a message.  He couldn’t stop the smile when he saw it was from Clint.

_Hey, sorry I had to run off earlier.  This case is kind of busting my balls._

Absently, Phil wondered what Clint would make of the pixies.  He was about to type out a reply, when his phone beeped again.

_I miss you_.

This time, Phil’s grin was ridiculous.   _I miss you, too_ , he replied.

Glancing up at the pixies now perched on his toaster, Phil bit his lip.  He’d already made room in his life for a slightly scruffy and very smart PI.  What harm could it do to make room for two pixies too?

“Okay,” he said.  “You can stay.”  Phil laughed at he was suddenly showered by thousands of pixie hugs and compliments.  “Hang on a minute.  You can stay here for as long as you like, without it requiring any payment.  And as long as you abide by the rules of the apartment,” he added firmly, eyeing both Jemma and Fitz carefully.

Jemma and Fitz cheered.

Phil sighed.

Fin.


End file.
